


Predicting God as Best He Can

by safe_haven



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Depression, Mental Health Issues, Self-Harm, Suicide Attempt
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-12-30
Updated: 2020-01-18
Packaged: 2021-02-27 11:46:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,344
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22026550
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/safe_haven/pseuds/safe_haven
Summary: a series of short one-shots mostly centered around Peter and Tony's relationship as they navigate Peter's mental illnesses. Please read the beginning notes before starting any chapter
Relationships: Peter Parker & Tony Stark
Kudos: 42





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> [ Warnings for this chapter: Extremely graphic statements and descriptions of self-harm and the aftermath of it. Mention of depression and the subsequent medication. Suicide attempt. Suicidal ideation. (If the specific phrase sl*t your wr*sts is triggering for you, please know that it is used several times throughout this chapter) ]
> 
> Hello! My name is Jesse, and I've been having a very, very rough time as of late trying to fight my depression. I decided that, instead of hurting myself, I would write. Here's what became of one of my recent lows. Please stay safe and know that there is hope.

**_[Peter]_ **

Peter’s brain sometimes got stuck on loops. It was usually at night, and the thoughts that made up the loops were always bad. They made it impossible for him to function. They were loud and all-encompassing and, if he was being honest, kind of convincing. 

For example, tonight’s loop is,  _ slit your wrists.  _ His brain had been screaming this since about 6 p.m. His arms itched for something to tear into them, and his body ached with fatigue, though he had done nothing today. 

Peter sat on his bed and stared at the wall, listening to the loop. He wished desperately that he could still cry, but he couldn’t. His therapist had him on antidepressants. No matter how badly his chest ached, he couldn’t cry. There was no release. At least, not through crying. 

He had sharp objects in his room. They were hidden beneath his bed and inside lockets. He could so easily pull them out and- 

_ Slit your wrists. Slit your wrists.  _

He pushed his hands over his ears, though he knew that would only make it louder. Sometimes he wanted it to be louder. Sometimes he didn’t want to stop himself from cutting. Sometimes he just wanted the sweet relief. 

But he stopped himself. Pulled out his phone. 

**[Peter Parker]: Hello, Mr. Stark. May I come over to the compound tonight?**

**[Tony Stark]: It’s a little late for that. Everyone’s already asleep.**

**[Tony Stark]: Why?**

**[Peter Parker]: Not to worry you or anything but if I’m alone for another two seconds I will seriously hurt myself.**

**_[Tony Stark] is calling…_ **

Peter answered, but didn’t say anything. He didn’t think he had the strength to. But that was okay. Tony talked to him. 

“Hey, kid. How are you feeling?” 

Peter wrinkled his nose, trying with all of his strength to hold himself to the bed. The loop got louder and louder within his head. 

“I know you’re probably tired and hurting. I understand that. I really do.” 

Peter lost it, stumbling out of bed and searching blindly for something, anything sharp. His heart pounded heavily against his chest. He just wanted to be with Mr. Stark. But no, it was just his voice. Just his voice there. Not him. 

His wrist screamed. 

“My day was pretty wild today. Do you want to hear about it?” 

Tony’s voice blurred into nothing. It sounded as if he were underwater. Blood poured from Peter’s wrist. 

**_[Tony]_ **

The kid hadn’t said anything in the ten minutes since Tony had called him. The minutes ticked by slowly, Tony trying to fill the silence with his voice. Then, he heard a faucet turning on. Peter crying quietly. 

“Oh, kid. Oh, kid, I’m so sorry I couldn’t stop you. Tell me what I need to do.” 

“Oh, God,” Peter was crying. “Oh, God, it’s so bad. It’s so, so bad.” 

“Kid? Talk to me. What’s going on?” 

“Mr. Stark, I don’t want to be alive. It’s too much, it’s all too much. I want it to stop. I want everything to stop, I can’t do this anymore.” 

Peter’s words became jumbled in his panic. His sobs reached a pitch, his breath hitching and then gasping. Tony cursed under his breath, grabbing the nearest jacket to him and flying out the door. 

“They won’t even care when I’m gone.” Peter’s voice was low, a scary kind of calm. Tony heard the sound of something hitting the floor. 

“Peter, I’ll care. Hey? Are you there?  _ Peter?”  _

The scene Tony burst in on was not one he ever imagined seeing. 

His stomach rolled. 

Peter was lying on the floor of his bathroom, blood pooling around his body. His left wrist was slit open three times. His eyes were glassed over and blank, staring at the ceiling. His body was still. 

“Oh, kid.” 

After a moment’s pause, Tony was on his knees. He crawled over to Peter’s unmoving body, shielding him as if that would bring him back. He tore off his jacket, cradling Peter’s wrist in it and pressing at the cuts. 

He pulled Peter until he was lying in his lap. He pushed two fingers against his neck, feeling for a heartbeat. When there was none to be found, Tony rested his cheek on Peter’s hair. 

“Come on, Peter. Wake up,” he whispered. 

Peter was turning cool in his arms. He rocked him back and forth, eyes closed and lips moving in silent prayer. Tony hadn’t believed in God for a long time, but whatever force was out there that made sure there were kids like Peter in this world had to be good enough to keep him alive. 

Slowly, the wounds stopped bleeding. Tony knew, logically, that Peter healed far too quickly for the scars to last more than a few weeks. Still, when he saw the gaping holes in Peter’s wrist, he cried. Not for the fear of loss, but for the knowledge that Peter had been hurting so long. 

_ They won’t even care.  _

Tony cried for that statement. Cried for Peter, and all that he was. 

“Mr. Stark?” 

Tony started slightly, eyes flying open at the sound of Peter’s weak voice. 

“Hey. Hey, Pete.” Tony moved the curls away from Peter’s eyes, careful with his fragile body. “How are you feeling?” 

Peter took a deep, shuddering breath. He let it out slowly, using what little strength he had to push his head against Tony’s chest. 

“‘m sorry,” he mumbled, voice slurring. “I wanted to be dead. I’m sorry.” 

Tony slowly began to pull the bloodied jacket from around Peter’s wrist. The wounds were already closing, slowly but surely. 

“Let’s get you cleaned up,” Tony whispered, brushing a quick, quiet kiss over Peter’s forehead. “Come on, Pete.” 

They struggled into a sitting position, Peter leaning against the wall and Tony sitting by his side. He began to pour water over Peter’s wrist. Peter was slowly coming back to life, his eyes fluttering as the realization of what happened slowly began to sink in. 

“Sh, keep still,” Tony whispered. “You’re going to be alright.” 


	2. There is No Beauty Here

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Warnings for this chapter: Suicide note, Suicidal ideation, references to self-harm. This is much less intense than the first story.]

“I need to go to the ER.” 

It’s the first thing Peter said when Tony answered the phone. For a second, there was a breathless silence in which the worst images flashed through Tony’s mind. Then, a little rushed, Peter answered the silent question. 

“I didn’t do anything to myself. But I will. I will do something. Please. I need to go to the ER.” 

A request to go to the ER isn’t the most expected thing a teenager might be asking at midnight. But here Peter is, begging Tony to take him. His voice is getting a little strained, a little hysterical, as if he’s been screaming for someone to take him and nobody will. 

Tony suspects Peter’s been begging for help for a long time. 

“Peter, I need you to listen to me carefully, okay? I can’t make it to you right this second. Is there anyone else you know who could take you?” 

Peter was sitting on the floor beside his bed, head pressed against the wall. His suicide note sat next to him. The entire world felt so impossible in those moments. How do you go on from this? For the first time in months, tears began to well in Peter’s eyes. It took everything in him to keep from stealing from his stash of sharp things. 

When Tony said these words, Peter’s heart dropped to his stomach. There’s May, of course, but they had already had this talk before. Peter had begged her. Peter had told her that he had tried to kill himself. May had just told him not to do it again and left it at that.

But at the end of the day, there were plenty of other options. Peter could take himself. He could call a friend. But that didn’t matter. He wanted Tony. 

“Mr. Stark, please. Please, I’m begging. You’re the only person I’d ever want to talk to.” 

Peter’s hand curled to a fist around the fabric of his pants. He started to get desperate, panic rising in his throat. His body went cold, and he buried his head in his knees. 

“Kid, I’m hours away. I can’t reach you right now. Can you get yourself to the ER?” 

“NO!” 

Peter’s voice trembled and broke. He dissolved into sobs. The pain was unbearable.

“I just want to be dead, Mr. Stark. I just want to be dead. Please, please just let me be dead.” His words melted into panicked cries. He grasped at his chest, the comfortable numbness of being suicidal suddenly gone. The world came at him all at once, a million sights and sounds and colors flooding him as emotion slammed back into him. 

“Okay,” Tony soothed. “Okay, Peter. Listen to me. Sh, Sh, calm down. It’s okay. I’m right here. Just listen to my voice. Do you trust me?” 

Peter sucked in a few deep breaths, trying to steady himself. "Yes," he cried out. "With my life."

"Then stay alive." 

Peter's body slowly began to calm down. The short outburst began to recede, leaving him out of breath and out of energy. He blinked slowly, his eyes half-open. 

“What do you need, Peter?” 

“I need quiet. I need dark and heavy and quiet. Pressure. Pressure.” Peter was mumbling by the end of it. His heartbeat slowed to a dangerous rate. 

“Okay, Peter. Deep breath. Do you have the things I gave you?” 

Peter raised his head slowly, blinking into the darkness of his room. The weighted blanket, the heavy earphones, and the ice pack were still in their package on his dresser. He crawled over to them, wrestling them down with one hand. 

“Peter? You there?” 

“I have them.” 

“Okay.” 

He pulled the weighted blanket over him, pushing his body against the dresser. Something inside of him deflated, and all of his muscles relaxed. He breathed out a sigh of relief. 

“How do you feel?” 

“Okay.” 

“Good. Peter?” 

“Yeah?” 

“I love you.” 

Peter smiled, letting his head drop onto the blanket. “I love you, too,” he whispered. 

  
  


Tony found Peter on the floor the next morning, still curled under his blanket. He knelt next to him. Tony pushed a few stray curls away from his forehead, breathing a sigh of relief. Peter looked calm in his sleep, peaceful. If you looked close enough, however, you could see the nightmares just behind his eyes. 

“Peter.” Tony nudged him gently. “Peter, baby, it’s time to wake up.” 

Peter came to slowly, eyelids fluttering and nose twitching. He had survived another bad night. He breathed out deeply. 

Without saying a word, he leaned forward and buried his face in Tony’s side. 

“I know,” Tony chuckled. “I know.” He settled a careful hand on Peter’s head, slowly taking apart the curls between his thumb and forefinger. 

“How are you feeling, kid?” 

“Worn out.” 

Tony nodded, face a mixture of pain and worry. “I know, kid. It’s okay. I’m here now. I’m here.” Peter reached out, grasping for Tony’s hand. He squeezed it tightly once it was within his hold. 

Tony was about to squeeze his hand when something caught his eye. A piece of paper sitting on the floor behind Peter. He leaned over, careful not to bump his little spider baby, and grabbed it. Peter made a small noise of protest when Tony’s hand left his hand, his eyebrows furrowing as he burrowed further into Tony’s hug. 

Tony opened the letter and began to read. 

_ Tony,  _

_ I feel like writing this is pointless. The pain has, inevitably, swallowed me whole. I want you to know that this isn’t your fault; I simply couldn’t handle what I was going through anymore. I love you so, so much. You’re my dad and my best friend. I couldn’t have made it this far without you. _

_ Love,  _

_ Peter.  _

“Oh, Peter,” Tony breathed. “Oh, kid.” 

Peter’s eyes opened at that, quizzical. Then, he turned around and saw what Tony had. 

“Oh, my god.” He snatched it from Tony’s hand, crumbling it into a ball. 

“You were really going to do it.” 

Peter covered his eyes with one arm, his stomach twisting into a knot. Dread filled his chest. “I’m so sorry,” he mumbled. “I’m so sorry.” 

When he uncovered his eyes, he was shocked to find tears spilling from Tony’s.

“You were going to do it,” he repeated, his voice nothing more than a whisper now. “You were going to be dead. Oh, God. Oh, kid.” He reached forward and yanked Peter into a hug, cradling the back of his head with his hand. 

“I’m so sorry I wasn’t here.” Tony pressed a long, hard kiss to Peter’s temple, hands shaking. The thought of losing Peter was far too much to handle. He felt like he was crumbling from the inside out. Peter melted easily into the embrace, throat aching with unshed tears. 

“It’s okay, Mr. Stark. I’m okay.” 

“Come on. Let’s get you to the ER, okay?” 

Tony pulled away, cradling Peter’s head in his hands like Peter meant the world to him. But he didn’t. Peter meant more. Peter meant every star and planet and galaxy out there. Peter meant the universe and more to Tony. 

“I love you so much.” Tony leaned forward, pressing his nose against Peter’s forehead and letting his kid cry with him. “My baby, my Peter. I love you.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've been having a lot of long conversations with my best friend about how I've been feeling lately. As soon as he's free, he's going to go to the ER with me so I can get help for my suicidal ideation. I hope you're having an amazing day, my friend. If there's anything you'd like me to write or expand on, just let me know. 
> 
> Until next time,   
> -j


	3. Father to Son

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [WARNINGS FOR THIS CHAPTER: mention of suicide, implication of hearing voices, losing interest in everyday things. The phrase sl*t your wr*sts] 
> 
> A few days ago, I had to go to the ER for suicidal ideation. The official diagnosis was "severe major depressive disorder episode." I want to write a piece soon about my time there.

Peter knows that the world will keep spinning whether he wants it to or not. There is no easing up, no way to freeze time and get himself back on his feet before the motion starts again. He has learned to hold tightly to the ground in fear of flying away. Peter knew long ago that he was past saving. There was nothing good left about him or his life. He could find no reason to keep trying. 

The very first sign that Peter was _not okay_ hit him during Spanish. Usually, he enjoyed school. He was passionate about learning languages and strived every day to become fluent in it. 

Peter opened a packet his Spanish teacher had given him. His very first thought as his mind worked to decipher the words was, _I don’t care about Spanish anymore._

His stomach dropped. 

Peter had always been filled with a fire that no one could deny. When you took that away from him, stripped him of what made him truly _him,_ then what were you left with? Peter stared at the foreign words until they made sense to him. He knew, deep within himself, that he should be terrified. His lack of caring should make him feel some kind of fear. But he felt nothing. 

He breathed out a deep sigh, closed his eyes and willing the emptiness to go away. 

The second sign clawed its way into Peter’s head on the way home from school. His headphones were on, music bleeding lazily in the background of his mind. He was hunched over his notebook, eyes darting along the lines. He was working on a new design he wanted to show to Tony, testing out chemicals that might work for webs. 

Then, he blinked. And all the letters on the page suddenly became new to him. He didn’t recognize anything anymore. A cold kind of sadness burst in his chest, curling into his legs and arms and hands. He looked up through a blur of unshed tears, closing his notebook and praying for better days. 

A familiar emptiness filled his chest. He wanted nothing more in those moments than to be dead. 

The third time, and the last time, Peter was alone. He was supposed to be doing homework while Tony worked in the lab, but everything around him was shifting and gray. His entire body felt like the weight of the world was pressing down on him. He didn’t have the energy to think, much less move pencil to paper. 

It came gradually, unlike it usually does. The slow onset of numbing pain, rolling through his body. He considered, for a fleeting moment, telling someone. But he had already bothered everyone in his life. There would be no point in trying to annoy them now. 

God, he was such a burden. 

The thoughts came back, louder and more violent this time. He jerked his head to the side, squeezing his eyes shut and shoving his hands over his ears. 

“Shut up,” he mumbled. “Shut _up._ Please leave me alone.” 

_Slit your wrists. Kill yourself. No one cares, no one cares._

He lay down on the couch in the Avenger’s compound. He found he couldn’t do anything else. His body was weak and aching. Everything felt heavy and slow and painful. 

His vision blurred, the voices dulling. Three hours passed in the blankness. Peter stared at the ceiling, not noticing how much time was slipping through his fingers. He didn’t notice until a voice broke through the silence. Only then did he realize he probably couldn’t handle any noise. His entire body flinched, fingers twitching as they itched to cover his ears. 

“Peter? Honey, are you okay?” 

It was Pepper. Her hair was pulled up, her clothes pressed and gray. It looked as though she was just coming from an important meeting. Peter’s unfocused and hazy gaze didn’t move from its spot fixated on the wall. He barely registered as his arms curled tightly around himself. Pepper’s worried eyes followed his movements. 

“Yes,” he finally responded. 

In his defense, it was almost half-hearted. It was almost an attempt at something vaguely resembling _I’m okay._

“Do you need me to call Tony?” 

Peter’s throat squeezed tightly at the mention of Tony’s name. There was nothing more he wanted in the world than to speak to Tony for hours on end. Tony always eased the pain. He always made everything better. But he had wasted his energy. He was nothing but a corpse now. Peter tugged subconsciously on his mouth as if his skin would crumble at the touch. 

Maybe if he could cry, he would. Maybe he would sob, maybe he would whimper or scream or do anything but sit here and be _nothing._

Before he could struggle out another response, he felt another presence in the room. It was Tony. He was here. He had left his lab to come up here and take care of Peter. Peter, the baby, who couldn’t do anything right. Who couldn’t even stay alive. 

Tony knelt next to Peter’s head, resting a gentle hand on his hair. He rubbed his thumb over his curls. “Hey, sleepyhead,” he joked softly. “How are you feeling?” 

The voice sounded familiar. It sounded safe. Peter closed his eyes and allowed himself to melt into it, a warm feeling taking the place of the emptiness. 

“Can you talk?” 

Peter reached up, grabbing Tony’s wrist and sniffling. He nodded. Tony reached out his other hand, letting Peter hold it tightly. 

“Do you want to talk?” 

Peter shook his head. 

“Alright, kid. You’re okay.” 

He pulled at Peter’s curls, watching his face soften, the deep lines of worry and sadness slowly fading. His body relaxed. Tony continued to talk, voice quiet and soothing. 

“I know you’re not supposed to be going out tonight, especially when you’re feeling like this, but I have a present for you.” Tony tapped Peter’s cheek and waited for a response. As soon as his eyes fluttered open, Tony pulled the Spider-Man suit into Peter’s line of sight. 

Tony smiled expectantly. He raised his eyebrows and waited for the look of shock and happiness to creep into Peter’s expression.

But nothing happened. He lay still. Something inside of him broke, and Peter somehow knew that this was beyond fixing. He knew that he was beyond saving now. His eyes turned a dangerous kind of empty. 

“I don’t care about being Spider-Man anymore.” His voice was raw and scratched and somehow _final_. It held no emotion in it. It was near silent from his fatigue. He closed his eyes in time to miss the broken look on Tony’s face. 

“You don’t...care?” 

_It’ll probably pass by tomorrow,_ Peter wanted to say. _I’ll be better tomorrow, just wait until then. Just hold me, please. I don’t want to be alone._

But he didn’t say those things. He didn’t even open his eyes to look at Tony. He couldn’t begin to pinpoint where the sadness ended and he began. 

Tony slid the suit to the side, sighing. “Okay, kid. What’s going on?” 

_Doesn’t matter, doesn’t matter, doesn’t matter._

“Everyone who knows me hates me. I don’t care about anything or anyone. I want to die.” 

Tony blinked at the sudden honesty, staring at Peter. This was the kid who once played Dancing Queen on repeat for two hours. Lying here, on his couch, wishing himself dead. Without a single tear in his eyes. 

“Okay. Okay, Peter. Can I see your hand?” Peter relinquished his death grip on the couch without a fight, dropping it lifelessly into Tony’s outstretched one.

Tony decided to handle this one thing at a time, slowly bringing his kid back to reality. 

“Can you tell me one person that hates you?” 

“You.” 

Peter stated this as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. Tony turned Peter’s hand over in his, trying not to let too much emotion show on his face. Hearing the kid’s thought process during one of his lows was going to be hard, he knew. But if Peter could handle this day in and day out, Tony was sure he could bear a piece. 

“Okay. Why do I hate you?” 

If Peter was surprised by the question, he didn’t express it. Tony found a small space at the base of Peter’s wrist and began to tap softly on it. Peter jerked in response to the touch but settled down after a few minutes. 

“Cause I’m sixteen. And I’m annoying. And I guess you’re getting tired of having to deal with me all the time.” Peter’s voice cracked. “I imagine I’m a real fucking burden.” 

_Tap, tap, tap._ It seemed to be calming Peter down considerably. Peter counted the taps in patterns of 8s. At each eighth tap, he tapped once on his own stomach. 

“I don’t hate you. Not by a long shot. You’re not a burden, I promise you that. If someone promised me every star in the sky, I would still turn them away, because none of them are as precious as you are. No diamond, no jewel, no sky. Hear me?” 

Peter nodded, his eyelids beginning to feel heavy. Tony wanted to let him sleep, but he needed to make sure he was okay before he did. 

“Why don’t you care about anything?” Tony inquired, voice soft. He shifted forward slightly, using one hand to tap on Peter’s wrist and the other to rub a thumb under his eyes, where tears were beginning to collect. Peter’s voice lulled to a lazy murmur, the answers coming more easily. 

“I don’t know. There’s this unbearable pain on my chest, and I can’t feel anything but that pain. Nothing really matters to me except making that pain go away. I don’t care about anything but that. I want it to stop. Please, please make it stop.” 

Tony’s heart broke. He continued his calming motions, tapping even softer now. The worst of it was over. If Peter could talk about what he was feeling, that meant they were in the clear. And Peter had survived. Still, the sadness was there. 

“What do you usually do when you feel like this?” 

“Wait it out.” 

Tony sighed. He was frustrated that there wasn’t an easy fix to this. That he had to see his kid go through this. 

“Okay. Just one more question. Still with me?” 

Peter gave an affirmative nod. 

“Why do you want to die?” 

“Because what’s the fucking point.” 

Peter’s shoulder’s lurched forward, and Tony pushed him back to keep him from falling off the couch. Peter yanked his arms from Tony’s grip, his face contorting in pain and his hands pressing over his ears. 

“Shut _up_ !” he begged. “Leave me alone, please, please, _God,_ leave me alone.” 

The voices refused to listen. Peter sobbed uncontrollably, body shaking against the couch. 

“Peter!” Tony said, voice just louder than Peter’s own. “Peter, kid!” 

Tony grabbed his arms, managing to wrestle his hands away from his ears. “Hey! It’s okay. Look at me. Look at me, okay?” 

Peter cried out, struggling with Tony for a few seconds. Then, he began to calm down. His body still shook, but he didn’t fight anymore. His eyes were red and terrified. His chest heaved with short, quick breaths. 

“Okay,” Tony whispered. “Okay. Here’s what we’re gonna do. Come on.” He stood, slowly lifting a crying Peter with him until he had room to sit on the couch. Peter immediately crashed into his chest, grabbing fistfuls of his shirt and burying his face into the fabric. Tony held him close, squeezing him as tightly as he could. 

“I know you feel like your suicide is inevitable."

Peter’s head jerked again, and Tony put a steadying hand on his hair, murmuring an apology.

“I know you think this pain is going to last forever, but it’s not. You’re going to be okay. You’re going to be fine. I promise you.” 

Tony held Peter close, brushing his fingers through his hair. He shushed him quietly and left gentle, fatherly kisses on the top of his head.

Though he was still shaking, it was a vast improvement from before. His body felt heavy and numb.

“Please,” he whispered, voice soft and cracking. “Please, I just want to sleep.” 

Sleeping was better than dying. Tony could work with that. “Okay, kid. You can sleep. I’m right here.” 

Peter’s grip on Tony’s shirt tightened for just a second. Tony realized, in that moment, what it felt like for someone to depend on you wholly. He felt Peter place his life into Tony’s hands. It felt scary and strangely peaceful. 

“Promise?” Peter said. 

“I promise.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you're having suicidal thoughts, please know that there is help out there for you. There is love, more than you know. 
> 
> Until next time,  
> -j

**Author's Note:**

> Please stay safe. Know that there is hope and help for you out there if you need it. You are loved and valued and this world needs you. Thank you for reading.  
> Until next time,  
> -j


End file.
